My eyes snap open.
And there he is.
Anton.
Those eyes. Dark green. The color of forests at midnight. The color I was terrified I’d never see again.
They’re locked on me with an intensity that steals my breath. Steady. Unwavering.
Like he’s memorizing me.
Or maybe checking that I’m real too.
The cut on his jaw. The shadows under his eyes. The exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
He’s here. He’s real. He came back.
Right next to me.
He’s standing outside the open car door, leaning in, one hand braced on the roof of the SUV, the other cupping my face. Close enough that I can feel his breath. Close enough to touch.
Eyes locked on mine with such intensity my heart might actually stop.
“Hi,malyshka,” he says softly.
I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t process what I’m seeing.
“You’re—” My voice breaks. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
“But you were… I thought Dima was—”
“I’ve been here the whole time, driving. Watching you sleep. Listening to you talk to our daughter.”
Our daughter.
He heard me. Heard everything I said.
“Anton.” It comes out as a sob.
And then I’m moving. Throwing myself at him. Arms around his neck. Face buried in his shoulder. Breathing him in like oxygen.
He catches me. Always catches me. Arms wrapping around me so tight I can barely breathe, but I don’t care.
“You’re real,” I gasp against his neck. “You’re really here.”
“I’m real.” His hand moves to the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. “I’m here. I came back.”
“You said two weeks—”
“Thirteen days.” His voice is rough. Raw. “I couldn’t wait the full two weeks. Not when I knew you were here. Turning thirty. Without me.”
I pull back just enough to see his face. To really look at him.
Thirteen days.
He was counting. Just like I was counting.
